


Vignettes from a Pregnancy

by Syddoc



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:44:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5354447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syddoc/pseuds/Syddoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slightly AU - Trimester One written pre-canon pregnancy, Trimester Two incorporates the canon pregnancy.</p><p>A non-sentimental pregnancy story</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vignettes from a Pregnancy

Trimester One

Personal Log- B'Elanna Torres

I found out when I woke up in Sickbay. Tom was grinning like a loon and the Doc was beaming his most patriarchal smile. Not Tom's usual reaction to me having a trip to Sickbay. Or the Doc's, for that matter. I sat up quickly and the world started to swim, so I lay down again.

I asked what was wrong and they told me.

Pregnant!

In this day and age of modern contraception? What was Tom so pleased about? Didn't he realise this would change everything…? Just when things had been going right for a while in our upside-down lives? I was angry, I was confused.

I was scared.

I hit out at Tom – anything to wipe that silly grin off his face, the sudden movement of that made me puke – I aimed at the Doc but he managed to desolidify that little bit so it didn't get him, damn him.

When I looked up again, having emptied my stomachs of whatever it was Neelix called lunch I was pleased to see I had made quite a mess. Tom had blood pouring from his nose and there was puke everywhere.

Then I wanted some explanations.

There were none.

Even when I disconnected an isomagnetic conduit and started waving it at the Doc he still couldn't explain it. That was when Tom snuck up and sedated me.

When I came to I was back in our quarters and Tom was looking concerned.

"How are you?"

How was I? Pregnant! Scared! Worried! Happy, somewhere, maybe, that this wonderful man and I had made a baby no matter how unexpectedly? Confused? …Mad as hell that the 100% effective contraceptives weren't? So many thoughts.

I went for honesty.

"I don't know" and burst into tears.

I think this told Tom a lot about how I was. I don't cry a lot. But thoughts of my mother and father, his mother and father, where we were, what this meant – it all came crashing over me all at once. Tom did the right thing- he braved another broken nose and swept me up in his arms.

"It'll be all right. It will. It will."

Oh we had talked about this, sure. But we had also talked about sailing round a world on a yacht, talked about getting home one day, talked about Harry's romances…it was all just talk. I was always going to be too busy being Chief Engineer to have a child – at least in the near future. Now suddenly that had all changed.

So I asked him…

"How do you feel?"

The bastard couldn't hold back the smile:

"I'm thrilled."

He would be, too. The relationship I had with my parents seemed to have occasional high spots in a constant battle. Worse still, after that near-death experience I had finally realised that my mother had tried her best. This was even more scary than my teenage belief that she couldn't care less about me because I wasn't Klingon enough. Could I do even worse trying my best?

Tom – well somehow Tom, despite his history with his Dad, had looked forward to being a daddy himself. I think he could really see himself pushing someone on a swing or teaching them to fly. He had a lot of daddy material in him. But I was still worried. That flush of concern came rushing back. We had really only been together in the same quarters for a year - things had been anything but settled for that year. We had only just got the hang of who does what in what moods – when we needed each other, when to give the other space. How would a small screaming thing change all of that?

We sat and talked that night, Tom and I. Talked about whether we wanted for the pregnancy to continue (part of me screamed – there will be another, better time! It's barely formed, now!) – but the look in Tom's eyes showed me how heart-broken he would be if that was the choice we made. Suprisingly, to me, the more I thought about it the more I realised it wasn't what I wanted either. This baby had been pretty stubborn to be an inexplicable conception… probably just the spirit it needed to survive in our little family!

*******************

Personal Log – Tom Paris

I can't believe it! I'm going to be a father!!!

I have said this to myself every day for the past several weeks but it's still only just sinking in.

My nose has held together (looking back at B'Elanna's distress I'm glad it wasn't my neck!) but since then it's amazing how quickly things can change. She has had a really rough time through all of this. I want to jump up and down, sing songs, fly in circles. All she can do is carry her Bucket around with her.

The Bucket has become the third member of our little happy family. Morning sickness (has anything been more inappropriately named?) has been the bane of B'Elanna's existence. Between her having to pee every five minutes, falling asleep over schematics and her uncertainty about this whole thing the constant vomiting and nausea has been horrific for me to watch.

It's the 24th Century – safe medications to control morning sickness have been around for hundreds of years. Evidently morning sickness is unheard of in Klingons. Unfortunately the hormones circulating to keep our little Klingon-human hybrid going – especially the human ones – are not compatible with B'Elanna's medullary vomiting centre. And despite those hundreds of years of research the Doc still hasn't come up with a safe, effective remedy – or even a relatively safe one. Hence The Bucket.

It's no ordinary bucket, initially B'Elanna threw up wherever she could find a suitable receptacle. Have you ever looked for a suitable receptacle to vomit in on in Voyager's corridors? They just don't exist. After the third such incident she started carrying a bucket.

The first time she and a bucket attended a Staff Meeting Chakotay asked her what it was for. She showed him. Numerous times.

Then the meeting had to be adjourned while I emptied the darn thing. Neelix's food often smells odd – but after it's been in the digestive tract it just smells horrific.

After that she designed The Bucket. It is small, portable and has an instant decomposer and deodoriser. It goes everywhere with her. It sits by the bed at night, it goes through the Jefferies Tubes with her while she does repairs, it's there at breakfast and it's there in Sandrines. It's become yet another legend of the Starship Voyager.

Naomi even kidnapped it at one stage and decorated it with Flotter motifs and other cute bits and pieces. I thought it was adorable. B'Elanna thanked her profusely, but privately she's told me that the mere sight of The Bucket is now almost enough to make her throw up. The old maternal instinct just hasn't kicked in yet…

But I'm starting to worry. She wasn't too thrilled when we heard the news (understatement of the century) but I was kind of hoping she'd be coming round by now. Instead it all seems bad. She is tired, she feels sick all the time, she's unsure whether we made the right decision, she wishes that it had happened much much later when we were a bit more sure of our future – not out on some lost Starship, how was she going to cope – she says she isn't maternal like Sam Wildman… Lots and lots of discussion but rarely a single positive word.

I thought that seeing the baby might change her mind… so we went down to Sickbay and I used the imager…it was there – tiny arms, tiny legs, little heart beating. I was almost in tears seeing that little life B'Elanna and I had created. She was happy that everything was okay…but later she told me it was like looking at a readout on someone else. Somehow disconnected to her.

But the scan was great for me…I really am going to be a father !!!

***************************

Medical Log – Voyager EMH

It has been a relatively eventful day in Sickbay, today. A plasma leak caused minor facial burns to two crewmen, which I repaired with my usual flair leaving absolutely no trace. Young Ms Wildman determined that she actually couldn't fly whilst off the holodeck, but was remarkably stoic as I used the osteoregenerator to mend her comminuted fractures of left tibia and fibula. My research into the Denzoie virus of Juddia has been progressing well, giving me new insights into the mechanisms of xenovirus replication that may help in the cure of some Alpha Quadrant diseases.

Then there are my least favourite patients – Lieutenants Torres and Paris. I must say that if ever there was to be a contraception failure this was the least expected. One would think that basic physiological and immunological mechanisms would have prevented a viable conception. I have tried to explain this to Lieutenant Torres who has been predictably unco-operative in participating in research as to how conception was achieved…although I must admit I was perhaps unwise to try and question her as to intercourse positions favoured by herself and Mr Paris whilst she was doing my weekly diagnostic. I had no idea that a festering boil on one's nose could be so annoying. She only removed it under the condition that I understood that any further such questioning could lead to a permanent infestation of said holographic boils over my entire body.

For some reason when I reported this behaviour to the Captain all she did was laugh and say "You shouldn't annoy a pregnant woman." Ensign Wildman never behaved in such an unhelpful fashion. I wish Lieutenant Torres would behave more civilly.

One thing has improved from this pregnancy – Lieutenant Paris' frequency of presentations with fractured collarbones has decreased markedly. When I attempted to question him about this he got an evil look in his eye and said "You know, I think boils all over your body may be a good look."

You really just can't help some people.

***************************

Personal Log – B'Elanna Torres

If I hear "You know Sam Wildman never had this/ acted like this" one more time I will rip someone's head off!!!

So what if she never ever got grumpy just once? So what if she never, ever threw up? So what if she never got so tired she fell asleep in the middle of something? All the reading I've been doing says that 'Pregnancy is a very individual event' yet everyone on the good Starship Voyager somehow looks at me as if I've grown a third head every time I grumble.

"But it's our first baby in years – you should be enjoying all of the attention." What planet are these people from? How the hell do you enjoy vomiting all the time, breasts that have exploded and are too sore to touch and being so tired that even getting out of bed is a drag? I'm sick of it being Voyager's baby, too. Suddenly everyone is trying to "take care" of me. If I'm seen with a cup of coffee it's "Are you sure that's good for our baby?" If I'm in Engineering "Don't worry Lieutenant – I'll do that – we wouldn't want our baby exposed to anything nasty!" I feel like throwing the lot of them out an airlock. Do they really think I'd want to harm the little monster?

Although I shouldn't have broken Carey's arm that time he patted my abdomen and said "I think you may be showing!" I apologised of course, afterwards. Intellectually I understand what this baby means to Voyager and that it's a symbol of hope and so on and so on. But for me, personally, adapting from Chief Engineer to Chief Madonna figure is not sitting easily. I still can't believe that through all of these symptoms that the baby is coming along well. The doctor assures me that all is well and that my risk of miscarriage at this stage is less than 0.1%. My brain keeps telling me "That's a one in one thousand chance… there must have been a one in a million chance of us getting sent out here by the Caretaker, a one in ten million chance I would join Starfleet again… one in a thousand doesn't sound good odds". But now I keep worrying if something happens to the baby and as well as it being awful for Tom and I – it will do horrible things to the whole crew. Even little Naomi is looking forward to having a Captain's Assistant Assistant!

So if you can hear me little monster – hang in there. I've been through too much to lose you now! 

*****************************************************************

Trimester 2

Personal Log – Tom Paris

She’s better at last.

We’ve finally seen the last of the bucket, although B’Elanna says we should hang on to it -- it could be used for more than one type of body waste disposal – it may come in handy if the recyclers go off line. She’s stopped being so tired. Best of all she’s accepting this pregnancy and I think – even enjoying it.

Now that the biochemical imbalances are sorted out and she’s flying through her second trimester life is good. I often catch B’Elanna staring at the image of our little girl with a dreamy smile on her face. That’s right. A dreamy smile. I can hardly believe it but I think she might be imagining life with our little girl on Voyager.

A girl! I am going to have a little girl. I now sometimes wonder how she will feel growing up on a Starship. I so much enjoyed the ocean, the smells of woodland, running as if there were no boundaries. What will it be like for her? Sure, I’m a good holodeck programmer but even then it’s not the same as being there.

I guess there are drawbacks with any situation. Harry asked me if I worried about the dangers. After all, we’ve had a pretty rough time of late. Even on Earth accidents happen, diseases recur. B’Elanna and I accept the fact that nowhere is perfect and will do our best.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Personal Log- B’Elanna Torres

I keep talking to you, now. I used to make my log just for the computer but now it seems silly talking as if you’re not there. The Doc is nagging me about how you hear me. Telling me to moderate my language. I think even the worst of me is better than the Doc and his singing, though. Don’t worry I’ll keep you safe from any more of his operatic adventures. Pity I can’t make the same promise for your Dad’s rock and roll!

There’s so much to learn. I wish babies came with a manual. Actually, they do. Thousands of them. Most with conflicting advice. Klingon and human parenting practices are fairly incompatible. I found that out through painful personal experience. How am I going to find the way for you? No one’s written the book on Human-Klingon child rearing on a Starship in the Delta Quadrant.

Your dad says we’ll find a way. I get so frustrated, though. After his initial enthusiasm for a simulation (oh yes – I’m sure you’ll sleep 16 hours a day and be toilet-trained by 8 weeks!) his interest in the harder aspects of parenting is fading. He won’t look at the PADDs I leave around the place. He’ll be looking after you, too, you know! Then there are the people who are sure that any way other than their way of child rearing will result in your immediate moral disintegration. One of the ensigns had a fit when they saw your cradle. They wondered why you weren’t going to sleep with us. Someone else almost had their nose altered when they suggested my plan for going back to work would interfere with your basic bonding. If the warp core was critical and I wasn’t there to fix it it might interfere with our bonding, too. The molecular sort.

Oh well. I shouldn’t get so riled. I know everyone is just trying to help. It’s the everyone, though. Sometimes I just wish it were just the three of us rather than you being community property. Not that that’s likely to change.

Despite the fact that I’ve stopped falling asleep in Staff Meetings it’s time for me to rest. Your dad should be off-shift, soon. A nap to recharge before he gets home would be nice.

_________________________________________________

Personal Log – Tom Paris

Okay. I’ve been patient. I’ve been supportive. But if I have to fix too many more broken bones I’ll be a very miserable man.

B’Elanna was so sick in her first trimester I never expected the hormonal effects of the pregnancy to be quite so dramatic. An "increase in interest in sex" sounds so benign. That’s what the books say and I wasn’t really holding out much hope. Maybe a bit of hope. After all, an increase from nothing (B’Elanna was too sick to even think about it) to maybe once a week would have been nice. Twice a week and I would have been ecstatic. But her Pon Farr experience had nothing on this!

All the books say, "Enjoy it. After the baby comes it could be a long, dry spell." But it’s kind of disconcerting to be reminded that there is an extra person around when you get kicked through her belly in a moment of passion. Sure the Doc tells me the baby doesn’t know what’s going on, that she’s cushioned by amniotic fluid. But judging by my bruises and from the noise complaints she’ll have to be pretty sturdy to not know something’s up with Mom and Dad.

As for the noise complaints, Neelix tells me that more people are eating in the messhall. Evidently a lot of people have been using their replicator rations for earplugs. Just wait till B’Elanna hears about that.

She finished her shift early today. She’ll have had a rest. Oh boy. I’d better make sure the osteoregenerator’s charged.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Personal Log- B’Elanna Torres

I’m so fat.

I am.

I have fat in places I didn’t know I could have fat.

I mean I’ve never been that conscious about my figure. I ate what I wanted, exercised when I wanted and things were okay.

Now nothing looks good. Nothing!

Sure Tom can say I look beautiful. If I hear ‘glowing’ and ‘radiant’ from one more person I might just drop them into the warp core so they can make a detailed comparison.

Tom had a brilliant idea the other day. Take holo-images! Aaargh! Couldn’t he see how I looked that day? I had bags under my eyes, my ass sags and the replicator seems to only specialise in A-cups (Unless you’re a Borg. I wonder how she persuaded it to upsize?).

I fart, too.

Tom and I have never been too embarrassed about natural bodily functions. The head/bathroom is too small to get too caught up in what’s happening. I mean you can hear one of his larger five-screens of PADD reading morning efforts way across the quarters. Most things don’t phase us, but this farting is ridiculous. I’m not just talking about little pffts… There are the silent but deadlies that gently whiff out and fill the room with their charming aroma. Then there are the ten note blasts that must have the neighbours reaching for their earplugs. How did I get so disgusting?

And the food. People said I might have cravings. I don’t really. Not the "Go get me ice-cream or die!" cravings. Just things I wouldn’t normally eat start to look good. Guacamole. It was always that bit too green for me before. Now it’s good on anything. Toast, sandwiches, pizza. Well I thought it was good on pizza. Tom just left more of it for me!

Can you hear me complaining little monster? Oh, the things you have done to me! I wouldn’t really change it though. Well, maybe just my ass sagging. And the farting.

Did you hear your father talking to you last night? Making plans to teach you to fly? Promising to take you sailing on Lake Como? He will, too.

Both your Dad and I felt badly let down by our parents. We’re both coming to realise that parents make mistakes, too. I hope we never make big ones with you like our dads, did.

But I promise you we will try hard for you. We are so looking forward to meeting you.

We love you and we haven’t really even met yet.

The End


End file.
